Shadows
by GraceBe
Summary: How will Carson cope when Mrs Hughes confesses a sin from her past to him? Sequel to "Sinning by Silence".
1. Part 1

**Soooooooo, here it is... a small, a very small sequel to "Sinning by Silence". It's not really necessary to have read the original story, but maybe some details will make more sense, if you did. **

**A big hug goes to Gemenied who, as always, tried to make this to look better than it is. **

**I also want to thank Julian Fellowes for creating this wonderful show. I certainly don't own any of the characters! **

**Shadows**

_It's part of what we call shadow, all the dark parts of us that we can't face._

_~ Michael Gruber_

**Part 1**

For a reason Carson couldn't quite name, this year's Servants' Ball felt different from the ones they had had enjoyed in previous years. Maybe it was the unusually warm winter or the roaring jazz music. Maybe the reason was the presence of Lady Mary's new husband, Mr Blake.

Maybe the reason was Mrs Hughes.

Mrs Hughes, Elsie, seemed rather absent-minded tonight, in fact she had been absent-minded all day long. Ever since the morning post had arrived, she had been uneasy and unusually sharp-tongued. Her wit was something he usually cherished, because it kept him on his toes (not that he would ever admit it to anyone else, but himself), but today he felt intimidated by it.

After lunch he had tried to find out what was bothering her, but she had cut him off with a short remark and had sent him away.

_"Really, Mr Carson, can't you think of anything else to do! Can't you count the wine bottles in the cellar? With the servants ball I have my hands full! I'm fine, but very busy!"_

His sole answer had been a raised eyebrow. He was used to her sass, her witty defences, but she had used a tone of voice that hadn't been the real her. He would never claim to be an overly observant man. In fact, he knew she thought of him as a foolish, oblivious kind of person, but when it came to her, he had learnt to _sense_ a lot of things.

He had _known_ women before her (had _known_ one very well while already loving her). Had loved one other women, had lain with her and others, but he had never, never experienced the level of physical and emotional attachment to another woman, as he had with her. Every time she was out of his sight, out of his reach, he missed her. His body ached for her. It felt, as if he lacked a part of himself when she wasn't around. And so he could naturally sense , when something was bothering her.

The day had been busy and after her little outburst he had decided to leave her alone, but now he finally had the time to investigate the whole matter. The dance had been going on for some time now. Everybody was cheerful and enjoyed themselves, without being out of line. Even James behaved himself, which was a relief, because the year before he had drunken too much champagne, which had led to an embarrassing dance interlude with him and a new housemaid.

Only now Carson felt relaxed enough to get to the bottom of Mrs Hughes' obvious distress. Earlier she had been talking to Mrs Patmore and Anna, but now she was alone. He detected her in the other corner of the room where she could watch the dance floor, without being threatened to dance herself. She stuck to the shadows this night, as if she was a part of them. He noticed how pensive she looked, as if she didn't notice what was going on around her. He braced himself for the upcoming task and started moving. He slowly circled the small group that was crowding the dance floor and approached her, armed with two glasses of punch.

"Mrs Hughes," he said with a broad smile. "Time to come back to mother earth."

She looked up to him (was she really that small, even fragile compared to him?) and seemed dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"

He gave her the glass. "You appear to be rather preoccupied tonight."

She blushed. "Oh, am I? I'm sorry, Mr Carson." She faked a smile and sipped from her punch. She looked lovely tonight. She wore a dress he had never seen on her before. It was black (Didn't she generally prefer black?) and the neckline cut a bit lower than usual was made of lace. She had tried something different with her hair that looked softer than usual.

"You are indeed," he confirmed and added in a much lower and (as he hoped) warmer voice. "Why don't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

A shadow crossed her face and it seemed to reveal a certain sadness, she had apparently tried to cover for most of the day.

"I told you there's nothing...," she broke off when she realized that lying was useless. She sipped from her punch. "I wish I could, but..."

"Yes?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?" He didn't understand, but what he understood even less was her following response. Actually, it left him quite upset and frightened.

"Because I don't want to lose you."

Elsie felt sorry for him. There he was; so loving, so attentive, so ignorant, so unsuspecting. It wasn't his fault. Not this time. She was the problem, she was being difficult, she couldn't handle her emotions, her memories. She had no right to expect him to understand her.

He was standing close to her now, trying to make sense of her and she didn't know how to deal with it. She smelled his cologne, the scent she had given him for Christmas. It was the most intimate present she had ever given him. She had picked it because it aroused her. She hadn't told him so, but it had been the sole reason to buy it as a gift. It produced lustful, forbidden images in her mind that she would only care to admit to him in the darkness of his bedroom.

"What on earth are you talking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," she answered, already angry with herself, because she had given herself away.

"It's not nothing," he corrected her.

She looked around, hoping nobody had noticed them standing so close together, talking so eagerly. If there was anything the upstairs family and the downstairs staff had in common, it was gossiping, and the last thing Elsie wanted, was becoming the main subject of their chit chatting attention.

"Not here," she mumbled. "Later."

She avoided his eyes, but she sensed the silent message they were sending.

_There is no later - not if you're like this._

"All right. Outside then. In five minutes," she hissed and moved away from him.

* * *

The air outside felt damp. It was the mixture of cold and fog that made one shiver from inside out. At least they would be alone outside. Meeting downstairs wasn't a safe choice, because there were too many places where people could hide and overhear them.

But nobody in his right mind would follow them outside and if, their followers could easily be seen. He waited for her while she was getting her coat. Out here the music from the inside didn't reach his ears. It was a calm night, a silent darkness that was as peaceful as it was disturbing.

After a few more minutes he finally heard her steps behind him. She stopped right next to him and followed his gaze that lingered around the hidden treetops in the fog.

"Now that's a romantic location for a late night meeting," she joked half-heartedly. "We should do this more often."

He didn't reply. He waited.

"A friend of mine has died," she finally said and he could see how she shivered, despite her warm coat.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"The letter I received today... It came from India. It seemed a nurse wrote it, because... well...," she broke off. Carson turned to her. The sadness upon her friend's death hung over like the fog hung over the majestic trees.

"It was sent at the end of October, so it's been a while now, but I had no idea..."

Carson touched her arm, squeezed it gently. He knew he should take her into his arms, should comfort her, but he didn't want to risk anything. Sure, they were alone, outside the house, but if anybody saw them, their lives, their careers would become a laughing stock. He didn't want to think he could be the ruin of her. She was highly respected in this house, valued even by those who only tolerated him. He couldn't allow himself to be the man she needed now.

"Grief is no shame," he said tenderly. "But why couldn't you tell me this morning? You know, I'm always there for..."

She interrupted him, "I know you are. But there are things I can't tell anyone. Not even you."

_Not even you... _The words echoed in his head, as he started to understand. "This friend of yours was a man, wasn't he?" he asked. "Another man... are we talking about Edward Lane?" A former lover. The thought caused a small, but sharp sting in his chest. A long time ago Lane had been his one and only friend and then he had learned Lane was not only in love with Elsie Hughes, but had also acted on his desires and had seduced her. Carson had forgiven him, her, for that matter, but the friendship between the men had been over ever since. Yet, he never had the desire to see him dead.

"No, it's not Mr Lane," Elsie clarified. "At least not that I know of. It's someone from another life. Before I came here as head housemaid."

"Is it that farmer?" The man who had the nerve to propose to her, not just once, but twice.

She shook her head. "It's not a man, Mr Carson. It's a woman. She and I worked together in a house in Sussex. Her name was Brenda."

Relief flooded him. She wasn't grieving for another man, he wouldn't have to compete with a dead man for her heart.

"I'm sure she meant a lot to you." He meant it. In their positions they didn't have close relationships with their co-workers. As housekeeper and butler their positions were unique. If they got too close to those who were entrusted to them, they ultimately exposed their weaknesses and that could undermine their authority. The only close relationship they had had in years was with each other and even that was forbidden, stolen, an unjustified claim.

"She did. At one time in my life."

"Did you stay in contact with her?"

"No. It wasn't like that."

He noticed that she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes lingered somewhere in the fog, as if they were searching for something they couldn't find. As if she was looking for something lost, unreachable.

"Did you part on bad terms?" he asked.

"Quite," she confirmed. "And you should stop questioning me, before I tell you the whole story. I know it's something you don't want to hear."

"Try me."

"You'll despise me."

"I could never despise you."

She was being ridiculous. She was the most honest and upright soul he knew. What could she have done to be despised by anyone?

"But you will. You must! I don't think I could bear it."

He was lost. She made no sense to him. She was a women for heaven's sake! Many of her actions didn't make sense to him, but he always knew whatever she did[,] found its motivation in her big heart. But maybe this wasn't the time to question her about something she didn't want to reveal. Maybe it was best, if it stayed in the shadows until she was ready to share it with him.

"I won't press you, if you don't want to share it with me, but I'm sad that you feel this way." He made a pause, hoping for some kind of reaction from her, but he was left disappointed. He gave up and reached out to touch her elbow. "Should we go back inside then?"

**End Part 1**


	2. Part 2

**Thank you so very much to everyone who took their time to read, review and alert this story! I appreciate all of you! **

**Part 2**

Her change of heart happened when they reached the main hall. A merry, busy place filled with laughter and the sound of music. She felt like a traitor within all this happiness. She sensed he was unhappy with her silence. Hopefully he knew that she only kept silent, because she didn't want to lie to him. But then, was keeping silent about a matter better than lying about it?

_To remain silent, when we should protest, makes cowards of men... _the words echoed in her mind and so she got a hold of his arm and said, "Please wait... We should talk."

"Now?" She saw his utter confusion and if she were a footman he would probably behead her now, but thank God she wasn't. He loved her, he didn't always understand her, but he loved her.

She looked around. Everybody was dancing and chatting, but the risk to talk right there was too big. Elsie's eyes scanned the grand hall, the paintings, the ceiling, the gallery... nobody was upstairs. Nobody would hear them upstairs.

"Come with me."

She led the way upstairs. They could still be seen up there, but people could hardly overhear them without being seen and up there, he probably wouldn't explode right in her face. If she was to lose him (and there was hardly a doubt in her mind that she would), at least he wouldn't shout at her. The gallery wasn't the stage for the butler to get rid of his mistress. She assumed that once she had told him her dirty little secret, he would gasp, his eyes would darken with disgust and anger and then he would turn on his heels. He would retreat and decide to forget her. No words spoken. Yes, it was the way she pictured it. It would be tough, but she could face it. Somehow. Perhaps.

And then tomorrow... Tomorrow, she would have to hand in her notice, because he wouldn't want her around much longer. With every step she climbed upstairs the scenario formed in her head and became a plan, a script. Sometimes life was so easy to predict.

She heard him groaning behind her. He was already upset with her, because she was dragging him all over the house.

"I never really appreciated the view from up here," she said, when they finally looked over the small, merry, unaware crowd underneath them. She was blithering, but she needed to say something insignificant to calm her nerves.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Just tell me, what this is about." He wasn't playing the game. He hated shadows. He loved black and white, right and wrong. His world was easier to understand (and to live in) than hers.

"Do you remember a time when I told you that Mr Barrow wasn't the first man of a certain sort I ever came across?"

His face was blank. He was absolutely bewildered and for a moment she thought he hadn't understood the meaning of her words.

"I think I do," he answered after a minute. His eyebrows narrowed, as they always did[,] when he was upset by something. She always wanted to reach out to touch his worry lines, as if she could wipe away his sorrow, but, of course, she couldn't do so now.

"Well, this isn't about Mr Barrow, of course," she continued. "It's not even about a man..."

"Your friend? Brenda?" he asked with growing impatience.

Elsie nodded.

"I see."

She shook her head. "I don't think you do. You see, she was a maid. We worked together and one day, she told me, she had fallen in love with someone, but she didn't believe her feelings were returned."

His eyes lay attentively on her, as he encouraged her to continue her story. "Go on."

"She had fallen for a co-worker. A young, quite innocent thing who was rather foolish."

"And what happened?"

"One night Brenda and that co-worker went out together. There was a fair in the village and they had some drinks and enjoyed themselves. Some lads had invited them, but when one of them thought he would demand something more than a few dances from them, the girls left and went home."

"Go on." He was holding his breath, all tensed now.

"When they got home, the girls were still a bit upset and decided to calm their nerves with another drink. They knew the butler had a bottle hidden in his pantry. They stole it."

Carson groaned disapprovingly.

"He had stolen it himself, so there was no need to feel overly guilty about it," Elsie explained with a small shrug. "He could hardly tell anyone about the theft without giving himself away. Anyway, they drank and then Brenda became bold and made a pass at her co-worker."

"A pass?"

"She kissed that other woman, but unlike Thomas she wasn't rejected."

She waited for his reaction, but got disappointed. He didn't even flinch. His face was a mask, which was very unlike him. He usually reacted to everything, but he stood completely still, waiting. So she continued her road to perdition.

"They shared the same room and that night they also shared the same bed."

He still didn't react.

"The next day my friend barely dared to look at her co-worker, because she sensed something was wrong with the other woman and she was right. The same day my friend's new lover had handed in her resignation."

"Because she was ashamed?" Carson concluded darkly.

"Yes, but not for what she did. She felt she had been misleading my friend... because she wasn't like... that. She had just been lonely."

"So, she left?"

Elsie nodded. "She did. They never saw each other again."

"Sounds if it was the right decision for the best."

She shrugged. "Perhaps it was. Who knows?"

Carson still stood next to her, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the crowd that danced and drank downstairs.

"Do you know what happened to Brenda's friend?" he asked, tonelessly.

"Yes, I do and so do you."

There was it, her confession. She didn't have to tell him anything else. He had understood her. Silence fell between them, while the music from downstairs became louder and louder and her head started spinning and she clung to the banister, because she feared to lose her balance, which was foolish, because her feet stood steadily on the ground. It was just her mind, the whirlwind of memories in her head that betrayed her.

"I'm going back downstairs," he announced after a while. "I think, I have to tell James that he's not a guest in a public house. If you'll excuse me."

"Of course."

**End Part 2**

**My lovely beta Gemenied said after this chapter I would have your full attention. I think this is the moment I just sneak out and hide... **


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

As soon as he had closed the door to her sitting room, the noise of the servants' ball upstairs was shut out and there was silence around him. He needed one moment, one minute, one hour (who was counting?) to grasp what she had just told him.

She had... with another woman. She had broken the law of society and of God for one night.

One lonely, drunken night.

Life was a funny business, but people were even funnier. He had pressed her to reveal the reason for her distress and she had been honest with him. Damn her.

He groaned, rubbed his face, hoped the gesture would erase the images from his mind.

What was it with her? Every time when he thought he could read her, he discovered something about her that caused him to question everything he knew about her again.

He had never thought about her as someone who could be attracted to her own gender. And why should he? They had been a (secret) couple for almost half a year now. They would marry some day, when they decided it was time to retire, but the time hadn't come yet. Both wanted more than a cottage and a handshake from his Lordship. Their careers had been part of their lives for too long to already consider retirement. Perhaps it was foolhardy, but they wanted it all. Their careers, their work, and each other. They wanted their time to get to know each other. To discover what was hidden beneath the servants' uniforms that they wore like armour all day long. And slowly they were able to reveal all this about each other in the shadows of the night, when the house was asleep and they were awake.

And now this. She had revealed another layer of herself. A sensuous layer she probably never wanted to discover and which had led to some heartbreak and pain.

She had shared her bed with another woman.

Since he _knew_ her, _knew_ what she liked, he could almost picture her, lost in her passion, trapped underneath another soft, warm body. He could only picture it too well and his body reacted to his fantasies, while his memories carried him back to another time and another place.

His face was on fire, as he remembered a stupidity from his youth. He and Charles Grigg had been in York in _some house. _They had paid a lot of money to watch women pleasuring each other. He had paid to be a tolerated voyeur who watched women as they did everything imaginable (and unimaginable, to him) to each other in the bedroom. Of course, it had aroused him, of course, he had wanted to participate, but there hadn't been enough money to join them. So he had been left with his own imaginations and a throbbing problem in his trousers.

The ball ended some time after midnight. After he had left her on the gallery, she hadn't seen him again. He seemed to have vanished, just like the trees outside had vanished in the thick fog of the night.

Worn out and yet restless Elsie entered her sitting room. Some strands of her hair had started to loose and so she tried to rearrange her hair with one hand while the other one was searching for the light switch. To her enormous surprise she found Mr Carson waiting for her. He was sitting on one of the chairs at the table and stared at his hands which lay on his knees.

"You're still up?" she asked surprised.

"I was waiting for you," he explained, facing a point on the wall. "I had hoped you would come in here before going up."

"How nice of you." She doubted he had been waiting out of kindness, but if there was an argument to follow, she didn't want to be the one to start it. She was never scared of a fight, but tonight she had no energy to fight. Elsie closed the door and sank onto the chair next to the door.

"Mr Lane, Mr Burns, your Lady friend... Is there anyone else I should know about?"

She frowned, "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't." Her voice was high pitched, ready to fight back, in case, just in case, he would start calling her names.

"Why did you never tell me about her before?" he wanted to know. "Why only now, after she died? You must have known I wouldn't leave you alone about it."

"I didn't see the point. Besides..."

"Yes?"

"Besides, I hardly think about it. It happened a long time ago."

"Was that before or after you met Mr Burns?" he asked. She gave him a sideways glance. It seemed, her confession had opened a can of worms. He had never questioned her about her love life before. He had even kept his tongue about Mr Lane, which had surprised her. Not that she had been eager to talk about him or any other person of her past. She preferred not to live in the past, she always preferred to look forward. Looking back was often painful, and rarely useful.

But today she had been reminded of something she had almost forgotten. The past was always a part of oneself. It defined one, drove one, it had made her the person she was now.

"I met her before I met Joe. And before you ask, Joe courted me, but there was never anything improper between us. He always behaved like a gentleman."

"I see."

"I don't think you do, but maybe that doesn't matter."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Because you've already made up your mind."

"Well, you're right about that."

Elsie scoffed. "So, I guess that's it then. Good night then." She rose from her chair and opened the door.

"I just wonder," he got on his feet as well. "Why you appear to be so sure about what I think."

Her hand lay on the door handle. She was hesitating now. Something in his voice told her that going now could turn out to be mistake. He sounded strict as always, when he discussed a difficult matter, but there was a shadow of sadness lingering in his words that surprised her.

"I know you, Charles," she answered sadly.

"Yes, I guess you know me quite well, but not as well as you think."

Elsie turned around, folded her hands in front of her. "Then prove me wrong!" she demanded.

"Was it love? With that woman I mean."

She shook her head. "It was loneliness and a certain amount of alcohol. It made me brave and foolish and I hurt her very badly."

"Did she forgive you?"

She narrowed her eyebrows, surprised about his question. She thought about the letter she had received that morning. "Yes, she did after all, but I'm not sure I deserved it."

"If it took her so long, she didn't know you very well and she certainly never loved you."

Elsie laughed bitterly. "You've had your heart broken, Charles. I'm sure you know how it feels and how hard it is to forgive."

"Yes, but I also know the difference between a broken heart and bruised pride. When I realized what you had with Mr Lane I first thought my heart would break, but later I realized it was just my pride that kept me from fighting for you."

He closed the distance between them and touched her face. "You made a mistake and you paid for it, but I won't chastise you for it... and I certainly won't give up on you because of it."

"So, you don't think I'm soiled?" she asked, tears dwelling in her eyes.

He pulled her to him and kissed her head. "No, my love, I don't."

* * *

Later she lay in his arms and drew small, indescribable figures on his chest while she was lost in her thoughts.

She had lit a candle that stood on the small night stand next to them and its flame bathed the room into soft light. Every time he held her close to him, he realized how small and soft she was compared to him. The thought made him smile, because the bed was way too small to be occupied by two grown people. On the other hand it was nice to have her so close.

"What's so funny?" she asked, as if she had sensed his smile.

"Nothing. I'm just very content right now."

"You mean you're very pleased with yourself," she scolded him softly.

"Why should I?" he asked, pretending not to understand the hidden meaning of her remark.

She turned a little so that she could look at his face. He smiled at her and kissed her. "I'm just very content with having you here, having you near me. Why can't you just believe that?" he asked.

"I guess, I do believe it. It's just that sometimes..."

"Yes?"

She sighed and lowered her head to place a kiss on his chest. "I'm not sure I quite deserve this. I've hurt so many people in the past... my mother when I left Scotland and the life she wanted me to have, Joe, when I turned him down, not once, but twice and then there's Brenda. I broke her heart, because I was foolish. And don't even get me started on Edward Lane... and you."

"I won't tell you now that I'm sorry to hear that," he said and dug his fingers into her long hair.

"And I'm also not sorry you didn't marry Joe Burns or Edward Lane." He kissed her again. "Not as long as you'll marry me someday."

"Are you sure you still want me as a wife? I'm hardly what people would call a respectable woman."

"You'll always have my respect and if respect was champagne I would make you bath in it every day."

She blushed and lowered her eyes, "I'll remind you about that when the next wine delivery arrives."

"Be my guest."

She rolled her eyes, slightly amused. "Do you really think we'll ever get away from this house?"

"Oh, I hope so. I don't wish to carry trays and shout at young foolish footmen for the rest of my life."

"You don't?" She seemed honestly surprised.

"No, one day I want to wake up next to you in a nice little cottage that belongs to us."

"And we'll spend our days with gardening and all the other odds and ends of normal couples?" she asked doubtfully.

His heart sank a little, "Isn't that what you wanted, too?"

"I never really thought about it," she admitted. "At least not in detail."

"Well, maybe we should start to think about it – in detail," he suggested. "Before you'll get into your head to marry somebody else."

"Don't worry," she said lowly, as she bent forward. Now she was the one who kissed his lips and teased him until he responded and returned her kiss with increasing passion.

"There's nobody else, there hasn't been in a long time. I love you," she mumbled against his mouth. "Maybe it's time I'm done sticking to the shadows and searching for the light instead."

"Whatever you do, I want you to do it with me," he said. "In the shadows or in the bright light of the day. I'm always on your side."

They exchanged a smile and she leaned in for another slow kiss.

"And I'm on yours," she whispered. "Always."

**The End**

**Thank you for everyone who take their time to comment on this story or wrote me a message! A big kiss goes, as always, to my beta Gemenied who is a fantastic writer! **


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